In The Beginning
by JWood201
Summary: September 1964. Short glimpses into what happened the day of the three hour tour.
1. The Bar

_Hello everyone! I'm flexing my writing muscles with something that I started a long time ago. There are multiple chapters to this that should be relatively easy to keep up with (if this experiment works and writing this story helps my creativity return!) I haven't forgotten about "Mary Ann Of The Mountain," but I'm not sure where I want to go with it right now. I needed to work on something simpler that would help me get back into writing._

_This chapter is how Gilligan and Mary Ann meet, but all the characters will be involved beginning in the next chapter. I hope to explore them all in some capacity._

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><p>The young woman tried to cause as little ruckus as possible as she hauled her giant suitcase through the door of the hotel bar. The brilliant Hawaiian sky disappeared behind her as she submerged into the darker world of mood lighting and mediocre lounge acts. She fanned the smoky air from her face as the corner of her suitcase caught one leg of a gold easel, sending the poster leaning atop it tumbling to the ground.<p>

A slightly older very dapper gentleman in a tweed blazer caught the poster, an advertisement for a singer that would be performing there later that afternoon, deftly in one hand before it hit the ground. "This dirty floor is no place for Miss Grant," he commented as he set the portrait of a stunning redhead back atop the easel, nonchalantly brushing some nonexistent dust from her two-dimensional cleavage.

The younger woman fought the urge to roll her eyes and smiled for his benefit. "Of course not."

"Do you need help with that?" he called as she continued past him, her suitcase banging chair and human legs as she went.

"I'm fine, thank you!" When she finally reached the bar, she hopped up on a stool next to a hunched skinny figure and pulled her suitcase in front of her to rest her swinging feet on. She proudly deposited her purse and straw hat on the bar and grinned at the curious bartender.

"I'm free," she told him. "Two weeks. I won this trip on the radio and I intend to savor every minute of it. No more corn, no more chickens, no more cow manure for two whole weeks. My aunt almost had a heart attack when I told her I was going to Hawaii by myself, but I told her to get over it because I'm a mature, grown-up, adult woman now." She smacked her hand down on the bar for emphasis and the bartender smiled kindly.

"Well, then what'll you have for your celebratory drink?"

"Shirley Temple, please. Extra cherries." The bartender smiled as the figure on the stool next to her giggled. She shot it a look from the corner of her eye. "I'm nineteen," she reluctantly confided in the bartender and he winked at her conspiratorially before moving away to make her drink.

She pointedly ignored the young man next to her until the bartender brought her drink over, garnished with a little bright blue paper umbrella. "Confidentially speaking," the bartender began, leaning on the bar toward her, "he's having the same thing."

The young man next to her sat up straight for the first time and gaped at the bartender. "Hey! You know I'm gonna be twenty-one in exactly one month, Steve! And I'm gonna come in that night and go _crazy_!" Before the young man sat an impressive Shirley Temple stacked exuberantly with extra-extra cherries and three umbrellas – blue, green, and yellow. "I might even have three Shirley Temples _and_ a chocolate-covered hamburger!" His blue eyes dropped back to his drink as the bartender chuckled and wandered away.

She watched him concentrate on his drink for a moment before he lifted his head. Brown hair fell away from his eyes as he proudly produced a cherry stuck to the other end of his straw as if this were the greatest magic trick in the world. He peered sideways to see if the girl was watching him. She was, with raised eyebrows. Even she understood the rudimentary science behind his way of impressing the ladies. He smiled and the vacuum broke, sending the cherry back into his drink and some of his drink onto his red shirt.

She laughed and when he looked up from wiping off his shirt, her hand was extended to him. "Mary Ann Summers."

"Petty Officer First Class William Gilligan," he replied with what to him seemed a very gallant tip of his white sailor's hat. "Retired."

"Impressive."

"Not really." His shoulders slumped. "I'm just a first mate."

She smiled at him and his face scrunched up uncomfortably. "I meant that trick with the cherry."

"Oh, yeah?" He visibly brightened. "My buddy Skinny Mulligan can tie a knot in a cherry stem with his tongue. He's real proud of that, but I think it's kinda disgusting."

Mary Ann peered at him from the corner of her eye as she chewed on her straw. "So, tell me William, why did you retire so young?" She frowned playfully. "Kicked out?"

The sailor shrugged and smiled down at the bar. "Nah. My commanding officer and I were honorably discharged after I saved his life."

Mary Ann's eyes widened. "Really?" she breathed. "Wow. That's amazing."

"Not really. I just kinda pushed him out of the way of this depth charge that got loose on the deck. He was real mad until he realized he was almost run over."

"You're a hero," she decided.

"No, I'm not."

"Sure, you are! Steve!" Mary Ann beckoned the bartender over. "Did you know that William is a true-blue, bonafide Naval hero?"

"William?" Steve chuckled. "You mean Gilligan? This little rascal couldn't punch a hole in the wind with a fistful of hammers." Steve good-naturedly whipped the bar towel at Gilligan and wandered over to a new customer that appeared at the opposite end of the bar.

Mary Ann watched him go with disbelief before turning on Gilligan. "You never told him the story?"

Gilligan shrugged. "It never came up. The Skipper's my best friend; of course I pushed him out of the way. I'd push Steve. I'd push you. Well, you know what I mean." Mary Ann was quiet for a long moment and when he finally looked up from his drink, Gilligan saw her smiling brilliantly at him. "What?"

"That's real hero talk if I ever heard it."

Gilligan shifted uncomfortably on his stool and blushed a little, pulling his hat further down over his red ears. "The Skipper and I give tours of the island on this charter boat now. You should come."

"Oh, that sounds fun!"

"Yeah, come on the six o'clock tour. The sunset's real pretty from the deck."

"Gilligan!" Gilligan and Mary Ann both jumped and looked towards the door where a large man stood, backlit by the sunlight. He crossed his arms impatiently.

"Uh oh. That's the Skipper. I gotta go." Gilligan hopped off his stool and shoved his hand into his pocket. He pulled out a crumpled five dollar bill and tossed it onto the bar. "Here. Pay for yours too. Come down to the dock before six o'clock, okay? Our boat's the Minnow."

Mary Ann slid off her bar stool, trying to keep up with his rapid fire instructions. "Okay. I'll see you later."

Gilligan gave her a lopsided smile. "Great. It was nice to meet you."

"You, too." She took his outstretched hand.

"GILLIGAN!" They jumped apart and glanced at the captain in the doorway. He was squinting into the dark room and patrons near the door moved away from the bellowing sailor.

"I gotta go. Bye!" Gilligan turned and bolted, holding his hat to his head as he raced for the door, deftly sidestepping between tables and leaping over bags.

As he leapt up the two steps to the door, Gilligan's sneaker hooked the gold easel, sending Miss Grant tumbling toward the floor again. Gilligan peered up from the floor, shielding his eyes against the sun streaming in the open door. He squinted up at the Skipper and then at the scholarly-looking gentleman hovering over him holding Ginger's likeness.

Gilligan chanced a glance back toward the bar as the Skipper hauled him to his feet, secretly hoping that his new friend hadn't seen that tumble. He saw her watching him as he was pushed out the door and into the blinding sunlight and his insides tightened. She probably wouldn't show up now.


	2. The Boat

_Note that this story will be written somewhat out of order. I have ideas for other characters "pre-Minnow," but wanted to upload this chapter that I already had written. Besides, it's more interesting that way. :)_

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><p>"Gilligan! I said cast off!"<p>

"What?" Gilligan turned from examining the dock.

"Cast off. We're ready to leave." The Skipper very calmly, yet grandly gestured to the rope tied to the dock. Gilligan followed his gaze vacantly for a second before snapping to attention.

"But we can't! My friend isn't here yet!"

"And what is it this time, Little Buddy? Parrot? Monkey? Mermaid?"

"No, she's a person." Gilligan turned indignantly to study the dock once more.

"Captain!" one of the passengers summoned from the deck below. The Skipper peered over the side of the bridge to find Mr. Howell gesturing to him from the shadow of his wife's parasol. "I say, Captain, shouldn't we be shoving off about now? I thought you military types valued your precision? I've heard of late curtains at the theatre, but never aboard ship."

"That's very true, Thurston. When we saw _Gianni Schicchi_ at the Metropolitan Opera it started a full ten minutes late. Disgraceful."

"Quite right, Lovey. Quite right." Mr. Howell patted his wife's opera-gloved hand absently and turned to the Skipper again. "You heard the lady, Captain. Anchors away!"

The other male passenger looked up from the fat book he was studying. "It's customary to begin a theatre performance at least five minutes late to account for stragglers and latecomers." With that, he buried his nose once again in the book.

"I never start a show late. If you miss me, you miss me. It's your loss." The statuesque redhead from the poster in the bar sat perched under the boat's canopy in a formal gold evening gown filing her nails. She had a scarf tied over her hair and large dark sunglasses shielding her eyes from the setting sun. She held her hand out in front of her to study her handiwork.

The Skipper sighed. "Shove off, Gilligan. The sooner we get out to sea, the sooner we can get back and be rid of these characters."

Gilligan almost protested, but was stopped by a glare from the Skipper. He climbed down the ladder to the deck and pulled in the line. "Ready, Skipper," he muttered. He pushed off of the wooden dock as the Skipper powered up the Minnow.

Gilligan turned and began his ascent up the ladder when he heard a faint voice above the roar of the boat's engine. He turned and spotted a gingham clad figure racing down the dock towards them in a blur of pink, waving furiously at them.

"Boy. Say, boy," Mr. Howell poked Gilligan in the leg with his walking stick. "I do believe you're being flagged down."

"Summoned even," his wife added helpfully.

Ginger peered over the top of her sunglasses. "Oh, brother. Here comes Dorothy," she said as she returned to her nails. Even the Professor looked up from his book momentarily.

"Skipper! Skipper, she's here! Turn around!"

The Skipper turned and peered back at the waving girl standing on the end of the dock. "Forget it, Gilligan. She's late. She can get on one of the tours tomorrow."

"But Skippeeeeerrr!" he whined. Gilligan took up residence on the stern of the boat, as close to his new friend as possible, pointing helplessly in her direction.

Ginger peered back at the girl standing dejectedly on the dock, her giant suitcase sitting beside her. "Geez. Did you ask her to move in with you?" Ginger raised her eyebrows, but Gilligan didn't hear her.

"We're already fifteen minutes behind schedule, boy!"

"Aw, but Thurston, look how sad they both look. We could be interfering with the natural order of things. And they'd make such a cute couple."

"Don't start, Lovey! Eighty percent of your matches end in divorce. And never a pre-nup!" Mr. Howell sat back in his chair, exasperated.

"Mrs. Howell's right," Ginger chimed in. "You can't interfere with fate. Terrible things could happen. Maybe the seven of us were meant to go on this tour together. Maybe Dorothy's supposed to get on this boat."

"Her name's Mary Ann," Gilligan corrected Ginger without looking at her.

"That's preposterous," the Professor piped up from behind his book. "There's no scientific basis for fate or destiny or things being written in stars."

Ginger brandished her nail file at him. "You have no sense of magic. I bet you're not the least bit romantic."

"Miss Grant, I shall withhold comment," he replied simply and went back to his book.

"Good," she shot back, returning once again to her nails.

As Mary Ann became smaller and smaller on the dock behind them, she finally stopped waving and dropped her arms to her sides. "I'm sorry!" she called, her voice faintly reaching his ears on the evening wind.


	3. The Galley

_Okay, so I totally wasn't planning on this being three MAG chapters in a row, but this is what I had written already and wanted to upload _something_. I have Howell, Ginger, etc chapters in the works, but this was already written and you know I love my MAG. The other characters' chapters will come later and therefore will be out of order, but that's more fun, right?_

_Disclaimer: I have no idea how boats are actually designed, so don't hate on my galley, ok?_

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><p>Gilligan stood at the tiny counter in the galley of the Minnow with his shoulders back and his hat tipped at a jaunty angle. He was talking to himself as he prepared the food for the guests, moving around the galley confidently.<p>

"And zen we put ze caviar on ze cracker," he narrated in a haughty French accent as he slathered some mayonnaise over a slice of bread and then slapped it down on top of the sandwich. "Is magnifique, no?" Gilligan grandly deposited a limp sprig of parsley on top of an otherwise unimpressive turkey sandwich. He kissed his fingers loudly and held the sandwich up to the light like a newborn royal. "Voila! Is le masterpiece!"

A musical laugh rang out behind him and he nearly dropped his masterpiece on the floor. "Hi." Gilligan spun around, a little embarrassed at being caught. She was standing on the second step, bracing her palms against the walls of the narrow stairwell as the boat bobbed through the waves. She was just a shadowy silhouette, backlit by the sun streaming in from above, but he could tell she was grinning at him.

"Hey," he muttered, fumbling to put the sandwich back together on the plate.

"Thanks for coming back for me. I'm sorry I was late."

Gilligan shrugged. "Sure. I whined about it so much the Skipper turned around just to shut me up." They grinned at each other for a moment before he cleared his throat and turned back to his sandwich. "Besides, you can't miss the sunset tour. It's the best one."

"Well, you made it sound so nice, William."

"Call me Gilligan. Everyone else does." He glanced up at Mary Ann. She was frowning a little bit, like she didn't want to change this habit. "All my friends do."

Mary Ann smiled again and descended the final stair into the galley. "Why? Do I remind you of your mother when I call you William?"

Gilligan shook his head, concentrating on arranging the plates on a tray so he could carry them above deck. "Oh no, Miss Mary Ann," he said seriously, "You could never remind me of my mother."

Mary Ann planted her hands on her hips in a businesslike manner. "Well, then," she began brightly, "In that case, don't call me 'Miss.' You sound like those farmhands that would always be really polite so my Uncle George would let them take my cousin and I out." She peered sidelong at him as he tried to arrange seven plates on a tray built for five. He was concentrating hard, biting his lip and squinting a little. "Then as soon as we left they'd try to act all big and manly." Mary Ann rolled her eyes and pulled herself up onto the counter next to his workspace.

Gilligan stepped back from the counter. "You mean like this?" He pushed his hat down over his eyes and held his arms out, fists clenched to display imaginary giant muscles. "'Howdy there, Miss Mary Ann. Tex and me'd be real honored if you and your cousin here'd bestow upon us the honor of lettin' us accompany you to that there shindig that's goin' on somewhere around here.'" Gilligan hitched up his imaginary gun belt and paced the galley, two steps in either direction, scowling and stiff legged like he'd been on a horse for four years.

Mary Ann laughed and pulled his hat out of his eyes and he paced past her for the third time. "If that weren't so true, I'd be offended."

Gilligan stood up straight and grinned. "You mean you don't go for that?"

"Nope." Mary Ann kicked him gently in the shin. "I like little muscles."

Gilligan squirmed and concentrated again on the food. "Why are you down here in the dark? Why don't you go up top and enjoy the scenery?"

Mary Ann shrugged, swinging her feet. "There's no one to talk to up there. The teacher's been reading the whole time. Mr. and Mrs. Howell are talking mostly to themselves – not even to each other. And that actress isn't the easiest person to have a conversation with."

"I'd go up to talk to you, but if the Skipper sees me he'll just give me more work than I already have." Gilligan picked up the tray of sandwiches as an example.

"Then I'll stay down here. I left Kansas to see new things and meet new people." Mary Ann glanced around the room appraisingly. "I've never been in the galley of a ship before."

Gilligan hoisted the tray of sandwiches onto one palm like a waiter. "But you've also never seen Hawaii or met a millionaire or a movie star before."

Mary Ann grinned up at him and tapped his shin again. "I've never met a hero before either."

Gilligan froze. He felt a smile creeping onto his face before he could neutralize it with a nervous laugh.

"_Gilligan!_"

The young man flinched and fumbled the tray. Mary Ann yelped and reached out instinctively just as Gilligan was able to prevent it from tumbling to the ground.

"Egads, Captain! Must you bellow like a foghorn?"

Gilligan glanced down to where his hand was sandwiched between Mary Ann's and the tray and then back up at her. He felt the redness creeping up from under his shirt collar.

"GILLIGAN! Don't make me come down there!"

Gilligan wrenched the tray from Mary Ann's grasp and hurried to the stairs. The boat pitched and Gilligan braced himself against the stairwell with his elbows as he clamored up to the deck, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste.


End file.
